~ Deliciousness required

Tag Archives: winter

I’ve lived in California almost 14 years now, but there are certain American pastimes I will never fully understand. Camping (gasp!) is one of them. And…I’m a little afraid to say…football is another. That may be not be the most popular thing to confess, but hey, it’s not like I started a food blog to make friends.

Football in this country confounds me. The bizarre name for a game where your feet almost never touch the ball, the aggressive physicality, and the fact that really…for the life of me, I can’t understand why no one seems to move more than ten feet without getting slammed into by another player, and somehow, its called a play, analyzed from a thousand different angles, and followed by a commercial break.

So you can see why, with all of my issues, I have no choice but to host a Superbowl party almost every year. I like all parts of this event except when there’s an actual game happening. The ads can be really great. The halftime show is a total fun spectacle (Beyonce and Bruno Mars killed it last night! I hear Coldplay was there too). Best of all, I get to try out some new recipes on an unsuspecting crowd. And there’s no nachos or seven layer dips in sight.

This platter of roasted deliciousness was my slightly unorthodox opening act for our Superbowl munchies last night. It was probably also the best received, and deservedly so. Why had no one ever told me that butternut squash and tahini are a marriage made in heaven? And sneaky red onion is the true star, in a way that won’t make sense until you actually taste it. I can see myself eating nothing but a bowl of this for dinner on a weeknight, and it’s easy enough that you can, too. The only ingredient that may not be in your spice rack already is za’atar, but once you’ve tasted it, you’ll find ways to use this amazing blend again and again.

Put the squash and onion on a large baking sheet, add 3 tablespoons of the oil, 1 teaspoon salt and some black pepper and toss well. Roast in the oven for 30 to 40 minutes, until the vegetables have taken on some color and are cooked through. Set aside to cool.

To make the sauce, place the tahini in a small bowl along with the lemon juice, water, garlic, and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Whisk until the sauce is the consistency of honey, adding more water or tahini if necessary.

Pour the remaining 1 tablespoon of oil into a small frying pan and place over medium-low heat. Add the pine nuts along with 1/2 teaspoon salt and cook for a few minutes, stirring often, until the nuts are golden brown. Remove from the heat and set aside.

To serve, spread the vegetables out on a large serving platter and drizzle over the tahini dressing. Sprinkle the pine nuts and their oil on top, followed by the za’atar and chopped cilantro. Dig in.

I’ve had an extremely prolific season in the kitchen. Winter does that to me. It brings out all those nesting instincts. One sniff of the chill in the air and poof! just like that, I’m craving soups, stews, casseroles and the rest of that warm/comforting catalog. Also, if you’re me, that includes a lot of warm desserts, but we’ll save that for another post.

Unfortunately, I haven’t been blogging nearly as much as I’ve been cooking, or eating. Which is a shame. But somewhere between dropping off/picking up a toddler and trying to put an infant to nap fifty five times a day, actually taking the time to WRITE about what I’ve been cramming in my mouth hasn’t happened. But this soup has the best of intentions to help remedy the problem. It’s got vegetables and protein, color and crunch. And – cherry on top – it tastes like Thai food, which should be an immediate win in your book. Because there’s only one thing better than hot soup on a cold day, and that’s Asian-ish hot soup on a cold day. The only annoying ingredient to locate here is kaffir lime leaves. But they’re worth hunting down for this recipe, and as I’ve discovered, freeze amazingly well.

Since this is yet another Ottolenghi recipe, yes, it’s tad on the fussy side with garnishes and such. Some days, even I wonder if it’s really necessary to make yet another shallot infused oil to drizzle over something. But in case you’re wondering, like I was, if you could just add shallots and chili to the soup instead of making an extra component…well, you could, but it would produce a soup that’s a bit of an also ran in as opposed to a winner. Which one do you want to be? (Side note: these bragging and competitive tendencies are in no way a reflection of the kind of parent I hope to be. Ahem.)

First make the chili oil. Heat 2 tablespoons of the sunflower oil in a small saucepan. Add the shallot, garlic, ginger, chili, star anise, and curry powder and fry over low heat for 5 minutes, stirring from time to time, until the shallot is soft. Add the tomato paste and cook gently for 2 minutes. Stir in the remaining oil and the lemon zest and simmer very gently for 30 minutes. Leave to cool.

For the soup, bring a small pan of water to a boil and throw in the sugar snap peas. Cook for 90 seconds, drain, refresh under cod water, and set aside to dry. Once cool, cut them on the diagonal into thin slices.

Heat the sunflower oil in a large pot and add the onion. Cook over low heat, with a lid on, for 10 to 15 minutes, stirring once or twice, until the onion is completely soft and sweet. Stir in the red curry paste and cook for 1 minute. Add the lemongrass, lime leaves, red lentils, and 3 cups water. Bring to a boil, turn down the heat to low, and simmer for 15 minutes, until the lentils are completely soft.

Remove the soup from the heat and take out and discard the lemongrass and lime leaves. Use a blender to process the soup until it is completely smooth. Add the coconut milk, lime juice, soy sauce, and 1/2 teaspoon salt and stir. Return the soup to medium heat so all the flavors come together. Ladle into bowls, scatter the snap peas on top, sprinkle with the cilantro, and finish as much chili oil as you’d like.

I hate cleanup almost more than I love cooking. There is no greater buzz kill than a full sink. Which means that without a dishwasher (or a husband, either will do), most days my kitchen experiments would be dead in the water. For years, we lived in a beautiful San Francisco apartment that I loved in every way, except that it had no dishwasher. So although it was perfectly located, filled with natural light, and brimming with extra closet space, my joy was incomplete. The solution came in the form of that miracle wonder: the one pot meal.

This soup is perfect for those of you who love one pot meals as much as I do. (Although, really, is there anyone who doesn’t?) You could call it my idea of what a chicken noodle soup should be – well, there’s no chicken, for one thing. But there’s noodles aplenty, along with my best friend kale and its sometime buddy, the garbanzo bean. There’s also enough heat in the broth to keep those nasal passages clear, if you need any help in that department. I make this whenever I have a cold, and whenever I don’t. This soup doesn’t really need a reason. It’s that good.

Quick tip – the recipe makes a lot of soup, and that usually means leftovers. If you’re like me and don’t jump up and down with excitement over soft, overcooked noodles, do as I do. Make the soup all the way to the point where the noodles need to be added in. Ladle out some of the kale and chickpea brothy goodness for the next day (or week, or month, you can freeze this very easily). Then add enough noodles for tonight’s meal and finish the cooking. The next time you’re craving a taste of Tunisia, pull out the remaining broth, bring to a boil, and add in some more egg noodles. Voila, a fresh batch of soup and none of the work. Life is good.

As a child, I loved the rain. The Indian monsoon was my favorite time of year, no exceptions. What was not to love? There were extra days off from school, there was wading through sometimes thigh-high flooded streets, there was sneaking out for a quick dance through the garden when everything smelled just a little more green and alive. As an adult, though, rain isn’t as exciting. Mostly, it’s in the way. It seems synonymous with inefficiency and delays, or plans that need to be rescheduled, or the sniffles. With this recipe, I hope to reclaim some of the joys of the rainy day. Namely, long, warming, slow cooking. In other words, panade.

Have you heard of panade? I hadn’t either, until a couple years ago. An invention of the French (trust them to claim yet another prize in the food category), it’s the most meltingly delicious layered dream of bread, vegetables and cheese soaked in broth until it becomes puffed, golden and incredibly rich-tasting. I think the right word may actually be voluptuous. One bite and you would swear there had to be more going on than just bread and stock. You’ll be lifting layers, looking for the cream or the meat that you’re certain must be lurking under there. Instead, the secret is this – long cooked onions (an often under-appreciated kitchen workhorse), and an almost 2.5 hour cook time in the oven, low and slow. Rainy day perfection.

The results are spectacular and quite showy. This dish is wonderful for a crowd, as a vegetarian centerpiece or a side dish. It’s also great just for two (and a half-pint), with some stewy leftovers saved for the next day. This panade is made for winter. So cancel your plans for the afternoon, start up a pot of onions, and curl up with a good book while this beauty bakes. Your house will smell so good, you’ll almost need to leave and take a walk around the block, downpour be damned.

PS: Yes, the cooking instructions on this one are long, but I chose to keep it close to the author’s original recipe. Judy Rodgers wrote about food with warmth and reverence, and just reading her instructions makes the dish seem more inviting.

Place the onions in a deep 4-quart saucepan and drizzle and toss with oil to coat, about 1/4 cup. Set over medium-high heat and, shimmying the pan occasionally, cook until the bottom layer of onions is slightly golden around the edges, about 3 minutes. Stir and repeat.

Once the second layer of onions has colored, reduce the heat to low and stir in the garlic and a few pinches of salt. Stew, stirring occasionally, until the onions are a pale amber color and tender but not mushy, another 20 minutes or so. If at any point the onions look as if they may dry out, cover them to trap some of the moisture in the pan. Taste for salt. You should get about 2 1/4 cups cooked onions.

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Wilt prepared chard in batches: Place a few handfuls of leaves in a wide skillet with a drizzle of oil and a few pinches of salt. Set the pan over medium heat and stir the leaves until they are just wilted, 3 to 4 minutes. Taste for salt and set aside.

Toss and massage the cubed bread with a few tablespoons of olive oil, a generous 1/4 cup of the stock and a few pinches of salt, to taste.

Choose a deep 3 quart baking dish. Assemble the panade in layers, starting with a generous smear of onions, followed by a loose mosaic of bread cubes, a second layer of onions, a wrinkled blanket of chard, and a handful of the cheese. Repeat, starting with bread, the onions and so on, until the dish is brimming. Aim for 2 to 3 layers of each component, then make sure the top layer displays a little of everything. Irregularity in the layers makes the final product more interesting and lovely. Drizzle with any remaining olive oil.

Bring the remaining 3 3/4 cups stock to a simmer and taste for salt. Add stock slowly, in doses, around the edge of the dish. For a very juicy, soft panade, best served on its own, like a soup or risotto, add stock nearly to the rim; for a firm but succulent panade, nice as a side dish, fill to about 1 inch below the rim. Wait a minute for stock to be absorbed, then add more to return to the desired depth. The panade may rise a little as the bread swells.

Cover the top of the panade with parchment paper, then very loosely wrap the top and sides with foil. Place a separate sheet of foil under the panade or on the rack below it, to catch drips. Bake until the panade is piping hot and bubbly. It will rise a little, lifting the foil with it. The top should be pale golden in the center and slightly darker on the edges. This usually takes about 1 1/2 hours, but varies according to shape and material of baking dish and oven.

Uncover panade, raise temperature to 375 degrees, and leave until golden brown on top, 10 to 20 minutes. (If you aren’t quite ready when your panade is, re-tent the surface with parchment and foil and reduce the heat to 275 degrees. You can hold it another half hour this way without it overbrowning or drying out.) Slide a knife down the side of the dish and check the consistency of the panade. Beneath the crust, it should be very satiny and it should ooze liquid as you press against it with the blade of the knife. If it seems dry, add a few tablespoons simmering chicken stock and bake for 10 minutes longer.